12 Pains of a FACE Christmas
by Cherokee Bonnefoy-Jones
Summary: Let's FACE it. England's having a relapse of past holidays with these three. Christmas with these 4 has never been exactly sane, though. R&R. T for several reasons. Try pointing out all 12 pains.
1. Not What One Would Expect

**Princess Atemna: I declare everything else I've got going to be on hiatus. Not fair, but you try having writers block after watching something else for a while. Anyways, I decided to try my hand at Hetalia. This can't end well. But my best friend says my best ones are messed up. :) And sorry 'bout the probably poorly written accent for France. I watch Eng. dub.**

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><p><em><strong>December 14; 5:24 A.M.; 10 days, 13 hours, 36 minutes, 28 seconds to Christmas<strong>_

Arthur Kirkland woke up early that morning. It was December 14, the day he started putting up the decorations around his house. The process was always slow and quiet. Once in a while that frog, Francis Bonnefoy, would stop by to see how it was going, but, other than that, he was alone. Completely alone in this house. He let the few servants he kept around go for the holiday season.

After he finished what he thought was a fairly decent breakfast, there was a rather loud banging noise at his front door. There was only one country that knocked that loud - Alred F. Jones. What time was it anyway? Almost six, right? What did the moron want from him now that it couldn't wait for a decent time of day? _'It had better not be some stupid hero idea again. God, where did I go wrong with that boy?' _he thought as he went to the door.

The second he opened the door, he was greeted by three blonds, all with a very annoying different shade of blue eyes. "Merry Christmas," they greeted. The two with glasses were the North Americans that he'd raised (mostly by himself he would like to think) - Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams. The oldest country present was the most annoyng he'd ever met - Francis Bonnefoy, old Frog Face himself.

"Now, Angleterre, why such a face? Aren't you 'appy to 'ave 'elp zis year?" the older country asked.

"Go to hell, frog. You and Alfred are the last people I want helping me decorate for Christmas."

Matthew(big hugs) just stood there holding his polar bear, Mr. Kumajiro. "Think he'll remember me this time?" he asked quietly. "Who are you?" "I'm Canada."

"Why do I feel like I'm missing someone?" Arthur asked out of the blue.

"You forgot Matthieu again! You always do zat! You claim to see a Flying Mint Bunny and all zat, but you never see Matthieu!" the Frenchman complained. Why did he feel like the only one that ever really remembered the Canadian? Alfred somethimes did, yeah. But it was an almost always thing for Francis.

"Right. Sorry, Matthew. I don't know why I do that," the Brit apologized.

Matthew just smiled politely as Arthur led them inside. Once in the den, Francis made a point of asking where Arthur kept the Christmas tree. "The attic, where else? And why do you want to know?"

"Alfred, come wiz moi. Don't fret, Angleterre, we shall 'ave ze tree down 'ere in no time." Why did that make Arthur worry more than slightly? Hopefully he was just overreacting like Francis always said he did.

Already exhausted - even if it was only 6:15 - Arthur dramatically plopped down in his favorite over-stuffed chair. Looking at the arm of the seat, he saw the egg nogg stains from a christmas centuries ago. Turning his gaze to Matthew, he saw the young nation looking through a small bookshelf. That particular shelf held all of his family memories - some good, the rest, not so good. Then he pulled out a very well taken care of photo album emblazoned with lettering that would be described as Parchment Script on a computer. The words read 'Kirkland-Bonnefoy'. They weren't the most favorite words he'd like to see paired like that, but it couldn't be helped at the time.

"How old is this thing, Arthur?" Mathhew asked the Brit. Personally, he didn't think the European would keep such 'blasphemy' around his house.

"A tad over 200 years. You ad Alfred were still young." Believe it or not, he missed those days. Not that he'd admit it to anyone. Not even that wine bastard. No. _Especially _the wine bastard.

_It was the early 1700s. Arthur Kirkland sat in his favorite arm chair he'd brought from his home and read a book while drinking a cup of egg nog by the fireplace. Suddenly, a small Alfred Jones pounced on him. He barely had time to save the book. The chair, however, could not be._

_"Alfred, what were you thinking? ! You could've hurt me!" He was now to the point of irritation. "And why aren't you in bed?" He had failed to notice a look-a-like child was also with the boy._

_"We want a Christmas story," the younger, shy, quiet Matthew explained for his outgoing brother._

_Looking at that little face, he he couldn'tbe angry at the impulsive colony. Matthew was always the picture of innocence, always vouching for his brother. And Alfred . . . wasn't. The colonies were like night and day. How they were brothers escaped the Briton._

_"Pick out a book," he instructed the boys._

_"No," the older boy protested. "We don't wanna be read to. Dad says you can make up the best stories."_

_"He did, did he?" He hated that. They would always call Francis 'dad' while he got stuck with 'mom'. No man should be called that, no matter the situation._

Now, nearly 300 years later (it's 2000-somethin' in this fic), he still didn't understand why Francis was 'dad'. A mom was suppossed to be able to cook decent meals, right? He, according to France, couldn't. Okay, so he burnt scones. And several other things. So why was _he _the 'mom' if Francis could cook so well?

"Alfred, be careful wiz your end. Angleterre will 'ave a fit if ze tree'z damaged." That voice meant that the other two were back from the attic.

"**_Mom _**can just get over it! He always thinks he's all that and fish and chips!" Wait. Didn't Alfred like his fish and chips?

_**"Alfred Franklin Jones! **_If you insult my cooking again, I'll make you eat scones!" Arthur yelled back. Yes. Christmas wasn't complete unless someone yelled at/insulted anyone. Or forgot poor Matthew - but that happened on a regular basis.

Soon the two previously absent countries had re-entered the room with a rather large box that contained a 4-year-old, fake Christmas tree. Alfred, as overly dramatic as possible, collapsed onto the floor, trying to catch his breath. This reminded Matthew of someone. Arthus was just reminded of exactly why he didn't invite the American over to help decorate for holiday.

"Who wants to put the tree together?" the Briton asked the boys. Within seconds, Alfred was on his feet, he and his little brother pulling out the various peices that would become the tree. Arthur smiled smugly at his own success. Maybe having Alfred there would be good after all. Free labor.

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><p><strong>Atemna: Yeah. My friend came up with that fish&amp;chips thing during a txt. We were talking about America's manners - or lack there of - and (lack of)taste buds. Plus, 'Alfred F. Jones' isn't as threatening from Iggy. It's gotta be the entire thing. Please be nice and review. Plllleeeaaassseee~~?<strong>


	2. Strangest Morning EVER

**_December 15; 6:14 A.M.; 9 Days, 17 hours, 46 minutes, 45 seconds to Christmas_**

Something didn't feel right. Why could he smell . . . Were those pancakes? And bacon? There also seemed to be a mix of warm tea mixed with coffee. Why could he smell all of that? Then he remembered the day befor. "That damn frog. I never said they could stay the night. Besides, the bloody git has a chateau on the other side of London!" Why, he didn't know.

Downstairs, Francis gave Matthew a stack of pancakes that were drowning in maple syrup. Alfred had a slightly smaller stack that was lathered with insane amounts of butter. To be honest, no one could understand how either country could stand it.

"Alfred, stop shoveling food into your mouth and chew," a demanding Brittish voice said while the owner came into the kitchen. "You're going to make yourself sick. Be more like your brother."

Says the one that hardly sees him," the American mumbled.

"What was that?" the man growled.

"Nothing."

That done, Arthur sat next to Alfred to monitor the young man's eating habits. Francis promptly gave the Brit a plate of poached eggs, toast, bacon, and a cup of fine English tea. "You're doing it again, frog."

"Get over it, Angleterre. I just know you too well."

Breakfast was rather quiet as MAtthew ate about three plates of pancakes, everyone not sure how he managed it. Then again, no one was sure how Alfred could eat nearly a pound of bacon. But at least Matthew could eat like a civilized person. It was like watching a horror film the way his brother ate.

That afternoon Francis compiled a grocery list for Christmas dinner, getting suggestions from the other three nations. They were deffinately having cranberry sauce, ham, and plum pudding. Of course, the Frenchman demanded to be the one to do all the cooking, so everything would be of the finest quality. Arthur disagreed. Vehemetly.

"Iggy, you're Catholic, right?" How religion had anything to do with food, no one was sure. But he answered anyway.

"Yes. So you're going to attend Christmas mass whether you like it or not. Why can't you _ever _be like your brother?"

"Wow. Twice in the same day. Hey, Mattie, you're getting noticed." Even Francis was surprised. Getting acknowledged once was good. Twice was Prussia(Awesome). Maybe they should've done this sooner.

When the grocery list was complete, Arthur worked on the guest list. They could invite up to three people. Sadly, his three 'invites' were already there. "Antonio, Lovi, and Gilbert," Francis suggested. Arthur quickly shot it down.

"I can barely tolerate you and Alfred. Why would I invite the rest of your damn trio?"

"But Gilbert and Antonio are mon best friends," the older man whined. "You 'ave to let zem come. Please, Angleterre."

"No! Pick someone else, frog!"

"I will not. Zey are mon best friends."

"If I allow those two and Lovino to come over, then Feliciano and Ludwig will tag along."

_"Angleterre."_

"No."

"Mon Dieu, Angleterre. 'Ave a 'eart."

"This is turning into a repeat of the colonial days," Arthur warned. "Remember when I actually gave in? I won't let it happen again. I don't care if those two just wanted to meet Alfred an Matthew or not! Lovino didn't need to be around children and neither did Gilbert! Especially Gilbert!"

The two left out countries looked at each other with utter confusion. They had lost track of the arguement a good while ago. Neither remembered the time the 'adults' were talking about, but it had been when they were still colonies apparently.

_"This is the last time Gilbert is allowed over! It's bad enough I'm dealing with Antonio and his damnable Armada right now! You're helping him just to spite me!"_

_"Now, Angleterre. Be rezonable. It cannot be zat bad."_

_"Lovino is a child and swears like a pirate!"_

_"Because Anotonio is a pirate. And what about you?"_

_"What about me?"_

By now, Arthur was attempting murder. It would work if the would-be victim wasn't a fellow country. "Die, frog!"

"Non! You let zem come over!"

"Over my dead body!"

While the older two nations fought, the youngers had decided to find the photo album from yesterday. Matthew found it, and the brothers began looking over the fond memories. That is, until the Englishman said something rather disturbing.

"That Prussian, beer drinking wanker molested our son!"

Awkward silence.

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><p><strong>Atemna: And . . . End chapter. Dunno. Should the rating go up after this tid bit? Next chap's bound to get . . . Awkward - er. Is that possible?<strong>


	3. Explaination Please

**Princess Atemna: Formerly FACE Family Christmas. Flashbacks now in italics.**

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><p>While the older two nations fought, the youngers had decided to find the photo album from yesterday. Matthew found it, and the brothers began looking over the fond memories. That is, until the Englishman said something rather disturbing.<p>

"That Prussian, beer drinking wanker molested our son!"

Awkward silence.

"**WHAT? !"**

Realizing what he'd just said, Arthur clasped his hands over his mouth to prevent even more stupidity. How he'd managed to keep that a secret – then blurt it out at this moment – for centuries was beyond him. But it truly was a miracle.

"M-molested?" Matthew stuttered.

"Forget that, Mattie. 'Our son'? You _never _own up to sharing ownership of _**anything**_." Needless to say, Alfred was in a state of shock. "When you say 'our', do you mean adopted or . . ."

"Biological."

In truth, if Feliks ever got a hold of this information, he would text Toris, who would tell Ivan, who would tell Wang Yao, who would tell Kiku, and the second it hit Feliciano, they were done for. Heck, at the rate information traveled with these people, they were surprised countries having personifications wasn't public knowledge yet. If it was, this would make the front page in every newspaper around the entire world.

"Explain, old man."

Arthur quickly turned his gaze to the Frenchman who was lounging on the couch. _**'Of course,' **_the Brit thought. _'God forbid __**he **__have to explain anything.'_

Taking a seat in the chair he used to read to the boys in, he seemed kind of . . . calm. This was different. Usually he was ready to kill, yell at someone, or any other ungentlemanly thing he claimed he didn't do.

_'Leave it to Alfred to pick up on the "our son" comment,' _Arthur thought before speaking. "Trust me, it's not like we planned on this. We were going to tell you when we thought you were old enough to handle it."

"Zen zings got out of 'and, wars got started, and we didn't 'ave time to say anyzing."

_'Oh, now he helps.' _Ignoring Francis, he continued. "When we reached the 'New World', we weren't really . . . expecting" That was the only way he could describe it. "A year after Jamestown was settled, Matthew was born. I believe Quebec was founded just about the same time, if I remember correctly," the Britt glared at the Frenchman. "That one was your fault, frog."

"S'il vous plait, Angleterre. Why must all ze blame fall to moi?" In his opinion, it should've been obvious to the Frenchman. Well, you know what the say about assuming.

Matthew looked at his brother and began laughing. "What's so funny?" the American demanded.

"You were an accident."

"Mom, Matt's pickin' on me."

"Am not."

This was going to be a _long _day. The colonial days had been bad enough, what with raising two boys, one who couldn't sit still for five seconds. It was a down right hassle since Alfred even destroyed the house several times a day. Those days were a nightmare that never ended.

"Don't make me point out your flaws for three hours again," Matthew threatened.

"Oi, will you two knock it off? We still need to settle the whole Gilbert issue." Needless to say, he wished he could forget the whole thing.

_"Wow. That's some curl the kid's got, amigo," Antonio remarked._

_"Bastard, pay attention to me!" Lovino was visibly jealous. Even if he would deny it later._

_"I remember when Lovi was this small. Just wonder if his curl's like mi Romanito's."_

_"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, trying to get little Alfred calmed down. It was a chore since the boy wanted to go play in the snow._

_To demonstrate, the Spaniard just lightly pinched the Italian's curl. The boy's face reddened as he folded his arms over his lap, a string of muttered curses falling from his mouth._

_"Tonio, stop molesting the poor kid," Gilbert told his youngest friend. "Weird something like that would be out in the open, though. Hey, Francy-pants, can I see if it works with Mattie? Thanks." Matthew was out of his papa's lap and in Gilbert's arms before the blond could say anything. Gilbert then began twisting the boy's curl._

"Needless to say, Angleterre took it to a personal level. Maman bear mode and everyzing. Zat night, we fought some and zey were never allowed over again."

The Canadian sighed in relief. Honestly, he'd been expecting worse. It was Gilbert Beilschmidt after all. He could do any number of things, most without one knowing. At least it had just been Arthur being an over-reactive/overprotective mother. "But it's not true, right?"

"Never tried after zat, but we had to keep Alfred from pulling on it."

"Only you," Matthew commented while looking at his older brother.

"_What?" _

"You're arrogant, your education system's screwed up, air quality sucks . . ." The list went on and on and _on._


	4. Deck the Halls With Boughs of Insanity

**Princess Atemna: Challenge for ya. Aside for this chap, when this is done - or as you figure it out - create a list of these guys' personal 12 pains. And sorry if there's too much dialouge lately.**

**P.S. German accent - probably fail. Epic fail beyond America.**

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><p><strong>"Deck the Halls With Boughs of Insanity"<strong>

_**December 16; 10:45 A.M.; 7 days, 13 hours, 14 minutes, 37 minutes to Christmas**_

Fa la la la la, la freaking _la. _It was one of those days again. Somehow, Alfred had convinced them to let _him _hang up the lights outside around the house. We all know how _that_ ends. Matthew, who was worried about his accident _prone _big brother, went out to check on him.

"How'd you get tangled up?"

"How the hell should I know? ! I was tryin' to find the bulb that went out, then others started going out! I **_hate_** riggin' up the lights! Great. Now they're blinking."

"I'll go tell Maman."

"Could ya hurry? Kinda freezin' my chestnuts off!"

Once inside, the Canadian face-palmed. Only his brother. Okay, granted the Vargas twins could probably do the same thing. But it could never be as epic as what Alfred F. Jones could pull off. Yeah. They really needed to get rid of that glasses stereotype. Looking up, he saw the next worst thing imaginable.

For some unfathomable reason, Francis was putting up the mistletoe. In just about every doorway, Matt noticed, was a sprig of Oklahoma's state parasite (trust me, I know these things). "Angleterre won't be getting out of zis one. Honhonhon." Nope. By the young blond's guess, this was **_NOT_ **ending well. "Matthieu, iz Alfred alright?"

"Not really. He got tangled in the lights." France just rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'Angleterre'.

Out of nowhere came Alfred's not-so-reassuring yell of "It's all good!" Soon after, the lights went out, followed by "Nevermind!"

_**"ALFRED FRANKLIN JONES!"** _Iggy, right on cue. "Dammit. Bloody git blew a fuse. We should've called Ludwig!" the Briton yelled from the kitchen. "I **_told_** you, Francis! Then this wouldn't have happened!"

"Zen zis wouldn't 'ave 'appened," the Frenchman mocked the currently absent male country.

Soon the four were tearing up the house looking for any flashlight they could find. It took hours before they decided to give up. "Angleterre, why muzt you loze zings? If at all possible, you could loze your entire 'ouse, cheri."

"Shut up, frog! And it's not my fault! You try having Iain and Seamus throw rocks at your head as a child! See how well _you _remember things! Not to mention it's all probably a damn Faeries' fault the torches are lost anyway!"

"Dude, get with the program. We use flashlights these days." Leave it to America.

Arthur buried his face in a certain European's shoulder, almost sobbing. "Where in God's name did I go wrong?"

Yep. One of those days.

"Oh well. At least my iPhone has a flashlight app. Now I can be a total hero and get the power - and heat - back on."

Everyone deadpanned. He'd had a light app all this time? Why hadn't he said something sooner? !

"Why can't there be an app for making you shut up?"

"Nah. Wouldn't work anyway."

Before America descended the stairs, Matthew decided to stop him "Why don't we call Ludwig? I'd feel better with him fixing this problem." Even their parents agreed. Which was odd.

**#Ja? Ludvig shpeaking.#**

"Dude, Germany, it's America. We're havin' a problem with the fuse box. Lights are out and it's gettin' kinda cold. Wanna com fix it?"

**#How did jou blow a fuze?#**

"How the hell should I know? First I got tangled, then got out, then the fuse blew. You comin' or not?"

**#Ja. Vhere are jou?#**

"Mom's."

**#Huh?#**

"C'mon, Germany, it's _freezing _here! No power."

**#Put jour bruder on the phone.#**

"H-hello?"

**#Vhere are jou? Jour bruder von't anzer mein question properly.#**

"Probably afraid you'll tell Gilbert. We're in England. Could you hurry? Maman's trying to fight with Papa again." Over what, well . . . it was possibly who had dropped Alfred on the head as a child (and I live in America T_T).

"Just get here already!" Alfred yelled before taking the phone and hanging up on the Germanic nation. _"Geez. _Thinks he's so smart. If he's so smart, why not have **_HIM _**rig up the lights? ! And I'm not worried about Prussia!" With that, America began collecting blankets to keep warm.

3 Hours Later

Looking at the mass of blankets on the couch, Matthew was ashamed to be the younger brother of the country in those blankets . . . somewhere. Alfred hated the cold, winter, and that winter was so cold. Being normal, the other three continued putting up the decorations. At one point, Arthur was sitting on a ladder at the same doorway where Francis was putting up a sprig that God damned parasite called mistletoe.

"Kiss, s'il vous plait, Angleterre?" the older man requested.

"Hell no."

_"Angleterre~" **Great.** _He was whining. Again. He just had to agree. France. Whining. Mistletoe. There would be a major scene if he continued to say no. Nodding in the general direction of the boys, Francis seemed to understand.

"Boys, we're gonna go see if there are still some things left in the attic." Matt seemed obilivious to the Brit's blush and allowed them to leave.

Five seconds later, America's head emerged from the heap of covers. "Wait . . . WHAT? ! No! Matt! How could you?"

"How could I what?" The Canadian truly was clueless to the fact that it was their _parents_ - one of whom had been under _mistletoe _- going to the attic. **_ALONE._**

Just as the American was about to dignify that with a response, there was a knock at the door. Matthew left his brother to fume as he went to see if that was hopefully Germany. Luckily, it was. With Feliciano Vargas attched at the hip. Quite literally. Ludwig couldn't go anywhere without Feliciano sice the whole Picto thing. And they thought it was bad before. Ha!

"Wow. It's really cold in there, huh, Luddy? Ciao, Mattie."

"Hey, Feli."

"Vhere's zhe fuze box?"

"Downstairs. I actually managed to find a flashlight, so here." Yes, Canada had somehow managed to find a flashlight without everyone hunting for one.

"Goodt. Feliciano, stay up here. Don't need jou getting hurt."

"Yes, sir!"

While Ludwig was in the basement and Arthur and Francis were in the attic, Matthew and Feli started cleaning the house after Tornado FACE struck. Sometime during cleaning, the other two Europeans emerged from the attic. Arthur's hair was dissheveled, as were his clothes, and there were several purple blotches his shirt collar failed to hide. Francis bore that smile on his face. Yes. **THAT **smile. The one he wore after any perverted thought or action.

"Ohonhonhon. Mon cher, you never cease to amaze moi."

"Shut up, frog. Don't need evereyone to hear you."

"Non need to be embarrassed, mon petite lapin. Zey already know."

"Dudes! That's so gross! Get a room!"

"We were juzt in one, Alfred." And still that smile remained. It was getting on Alfred's nerves. And this guy was their dad? Man, genetics were a messed up thing. Or did that even apply to countries? God, he hoped not.

Before a war broke out, the electricity came back on. Not long after, Ludwig emerged from the basement. "Now, try to be more careful, ja? Und, Ulfred, stop being a moron." Ignoring the German, he went to sit on the floor vent as the heat kicked on. "C'mon, Italy. Ve need to get home und make sure our bruders haven't deztroyed mein house." As the two made their way for the door, Francis saw them out.

"Ludwig, we were wondering if you two and your brothers wanted to come over for Christmas. Tell Lovi he can bring Antonio."

"I bruder vants to. He keeps going on undz on about zhe BTT. Vhatever zhat iz."

Francis smiled knowingly, knowing exactly what Ludwig had just deascribed. If Gilbert missed the Bad Touch Trio, then they would be seeing each other very soon. _'Beat zat, Angleterre.'_

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><p><strong>Atemna: Wow. And you wont believe how many criossants I ate during typing this chapter. Well, Asta la Pasta! R&amp;R!<strong>


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